words have no use anymore

I cannot believe I still have the desire to be a writer and describe life with words, because sometimes it's just so much life it's impossible...
That closing show was the most energized, spot-on, gloriously high-flying production I have seen ever. Plus the take was the highest record for a youth show ever, so, um, booyah. Yeah. Haha, I was simply dying up in the booth. Steven said yesterday--during the matinee I think--that the show wasn't seeming as funny anymore, probably because we'd seen it so many times; and then right after that Anneka runs into Austin and crawls on top of him and we crack up and he says, "ok, that's still funny." And for the rest of the weekend we kept pointing at things and saying, "ok, that's still funny too," and laughing our heads off, and we ended up pointing at pretty much the whole show.
I don't think I can explain the hilarity of this production to anyone who hasn't seen it. It's pretty much impossible. I can say..flying tackles, salacious lovers, saber fighting, balloons popping--or sometimes not--wig switching, mop eating, head-locking, pillow-molesting, wall-fondling, lantern-shaking, fairie dancing, magical wonderful glorious YES PLEASE ALWAYS. (That's my take, anyway...)

The cast party was a blast. Haha...also a dim blur. I was really tired before I even got there, and I didn't really get any sleep at all. I kind of dozed on Claire--but that got interrupted by our finger-llamas mating; and I sort of slept on half of Anneka's blanket, but we were too far gone in random laughter and the goddamm flash on her camera to actually sleep at all. And the piano songs, and flipping though old and new photos, and the gorgeously silly lip-synching to Let's Get It On (and the boomerang tie!), and the stories about Russia, and the total lack of ability to stay focused on one game for more than five seconds (Anneka and Elliot I'm looking at you), and playing I've Never and sort of actually managing that one, and the poker game with goldfish which no one ate afterwards (haha), and SINATRA, Kayla I love you; and piling on couches and fighting for pillows, and fighting with pillows, and laughing and talking and falling over and being slap-happy at random moments; "I love you all so much"--"Shut up, Claire, it's too early for that!"--and sitting on the porch in the cold, rainy smelling morning air and watching the sky grow lighter by degrees and trying to be silent--impossible; and muttering around breakfast and sending people off in twos and threes and ones and knowing we're going to see them in just a few days again anyway.
It's late enough now, Claire: I love you all so much.


Haha. Also, we saw The Brothers Grimm, and I don't care how terrible anyone thought it was, I had a good time. Except I also wanted to rip the camera and the budget away and make it myself, so...but ahaha, it was hilarious. "Trust the toad!" Also Heath Ledger with short hair and glasses against type was suprisingly adorable--but considering the only other thing I've seen him in is Knight's Tale, I guess there's only up to go from here. Hah. It was great. Stupid. But great.

....wow.

I spent the day sitting on the floor of my room with a tea tray and a pile of papers to go through, listening to Carbon Leaf, alternately being moody and annoyed and thinking I should just go to bed to fix myself (although food did help, since I haven't slept; I don't think I ate dinner last night), and then feeling supremely silly looking through my old writing folders. Gawd, I wrote some truly terrible things, none of which should ever see the light of day, and all of which are hilarious--to me, anyway.

Then I came across a bunch of handouts from Shauna in 11th grade Humanities, during her poetry stint; and I found a xeroxed copy of Allen Ginsberg's Howl Parts I & II. I started reading Part I out loud, muttering to myself, because poetry is better read out loud, and then I just could not stop. I read the whole thing, and it was fucking amazing. I'd forgotten how compelling that poem is. I'm still not sure if I like it, actually; but I know that anything that has that persistent but broken rhythm that catches your voice and won't let you go is pretty damn awesome.


Go: Read the poem. In fact, print it out on paper, because the computer screen can't do it justice. Print it out and read it out loud. Listen to it. It's fucking brilliant.

on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, / who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup...